


All Your Darkest Fears Are Gonna Come For You

by pythagorean_identity



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: (minor glove kink), Glove Kink, Hand Jobs, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ishval Civil War, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 16:39:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15100823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pythagorean_identity/pseuds/pythagorean_identity
Summary: Kimblee catches Roy on the way back from fighting.





	All Your Darkest Fears Are Gonna Come For You

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks for my amazing, awesome, long-suffering beta/cheerleader.  
> I've had the idea for an ishval fic for a while, and I have a few more still planned, but this idea was knocking around my head for a while, so last night at like... 3 I started writing it out, and finished it this afternoon.   
> title is taken from the song "Panic Room" which I've been listening to for hours. interpret it as you will ;)
> 
> pls don't mention any previous fics I may have written, or I'll delete your comment. I don't want to talk about it.

Someone grabbed Roy and pulled him down a small sidestreet. A few tired thoughts of panic and alarm flashed through the Alchemist’s mind, and he lifted his hands to fight, but after the past few hours of slaughter, he didn’t have it in him. He could very clearly hear Maes yelling in his mind, about him not giving up, about him not dying, about living to fight another day, but what was even the point if it was hardly even a fight at this point?

But when a knife wasn’t slipped between his ribs, and Roy’s attacker spun him around and pinned him between two bare, pale arms, did Roy realize he wasn’t in any sort of mortal danger of the Ishvalan sort.

“Kimblee,” he said flatly.

“And if I wasn’t? And if I was an Ishvalan, here to stick you for burning up my friends and family? What would you do?” he asked.

Somehow, Kimblee had lost his coat over the course of the day, and his upper body was clothed only with a white tank top. There were a few drying dark splatters on it that look suspiciously like blood. There were far more splatters across the dark blue material of his uniform pants.

Roy didn’t even know why he was even mildly surprised. They were at war, if it could even be called that. People were dying, and not all in a method that left no blood splatters.  
“Just let me go,” Roy said, trying to push away, but Kimblee pushed him back against the sun warmed wall.

“What would you do?” Kimblee insisted.

“What do you want me to say? Or do you want me to say that I’d fight back? That I’d burn you? Or do you want me to say I’d just let you kill me?” Roy didn’t have the energy to deal with this right now. At this point, he’d probably welcome an attack, simply to get him out of this situation.

“For someone so interesting, you can be quite boring,” Kimblee said.

Roy sighed and tried to push past Kimblee again, and Kimblee pushed him right back again, but this time grabbed one of his hands.

Too exhausted to try and fight it, Roy let Kimblee raise his gloved hand. Kimblee ran his thumb over Roy’s relaxed fingers with something that felt almost like tenderness through the fabric. He had an odd expression on his face, and his pale eyes were fixed on Roy’s hand. A feeling of discomfort settled heavily over Roy, siffling like the heat of the desert. 

Kimblee turned Roy’s hand to look over the transmutation circle stitched into the back, before lifting Roy’s hand higher to press his lips softly against Roy’s gloved fingers. 

Roy froze. He watched Kimblee’s eyes slip closed, felt the heat of Kimblee’s hand and face through the ignition fabric, felt his own breath catch in his throat. Was it fear? Surprize? It was hard to tell through the dimming haze of battle, the resignation that had set in ever since Kimblee had pulled him aside, and the discomfort of being so close to the other Alchemist. 

He released Roy’s hand after a few long heartbeats, and Roy seemed to shake off whatever had come over himself, and pulled his hand back, cradling it against his chest as if Kimblee had bitten his fingers rather than… kissed them? He didn’t know if that counted as a kiss or not.

“Your alchemy is amazing,” Kimblee said, opening his eyes. “It’s a shame we’re never deployed together. Watching you work is really something,”

Roy’s eyebrows drew together, and the dark sick feeling that usually consumed him while burning rose and drowned out all his other feelings.

“I hate it,” he admitted. 

“And that’s what makes you you,” Kimblee said, stepping closer. He smelled of dust and blood and smoke and sweat and death, although Roy could hardly say he smelled better. 

Kimblee grabbed for Roy’s hand again, and Roy pulled his hand away, pressing both his hands against the wall behind him, pressing his whole body against the wall behind him. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Kimblee said, clearly misreading Roy’s discomfort, although it was reassuring to hear.

It wasn’t pain that Roy was scared of, unsettled by. Kimblee was someone, something that made sense to be paired with hurt, to be paired with fear. Roy wouldn’t be so unsettled if Kimblee had been rough, grabbed at Roy’s hands with a grip hard enough to hurt, if Kimblee had brought Roy’s hand to his mouth to bite, if Kimblee had glared and leered and threatened. Praise and gentleness from Kimblee was what unsettled Roy. 

The thought surfaced from the dark feelings slowly bubbling in Roy’s chest. He didn’t want to be doing anything that would gain praise from Kimblee. He’d heard the other Alchemist’s worldview, and Roy didn’t want to do anything that seemed worthy of praise to a person like that.

And yet, perhaps not even a year ago he’d looked up to Kimblee. A skilled Alchemist, and the small thrill of first being able to meet him, even if it was in a warzone. The Roy from a few months ago would have held his hands out for Kimblee to examine.

Killing had changed him, but not Kimblee.

The dark feelings of burning drained away, leaving Roy uncomfortable and resigned.

“What are you going to do, then?” Roy asked daringly.

Kimblee grabbed Roy’s hand, and Roy let him.

“What would you let me?” Kimblee asked.

Despite the heat, Roy shivered at the question.

Kimblee guided the palm of Roy’s hand against his crotch. Against the obvious erection there. Roy glanced down, at the stark white of his glove against the blood splattered blue of Kimblee’s uniform pants. Carefully, Roy pressed against Kimblee, and looked back up at his face. He heard Kimblee’s breath catch slightly at the pressure, saw a slight blush rise under the sunburn on his face.

“Well?” Kimblee asked softly.

“I’ll get you off, that’s it,” Roy said. 

A few expressions crossed Kimblee’s face too fast for Roy to catch before Kimblee pressed himself up against Roy, his hand now trapped between his own thigh and Kimblee’s crotch. Kimblee ground his hips against Roy, panting softly and rutting like a teenager too shy to do anything more than grind against pillows. He ducked his head and braced his arms against the wall, caging Roy in, as if he were going to run now. Kimblee’s hair tickled at Roy’s cheek, and his breath was hot against Roy’s neck.

Roy wasn’t sure what to do for a few moments, before pulling free his trapped hand to grab Kimblee and turn him around.

“Sit,” Roy said, and slid his back down the wall as he sat down himself. 

He spread his legs to let Kimblee sit down between them. The other Alchemist was strangely compliant. Kimblee leaned back against him, his spine digging painfully into Roy’s ribs. Roy rested his chin on Kimblee’s shoulder, and fumbled at the zipper to Kimblee’s pants, freeing his erection. He then began pulling off his right glove, and Kimblee tried to stop him, grabbing at Roy’s wrists.

“I’m not going to get my gloves dirty to get you off. It probably wouldn’t be very sanitary or comfortable,” Roy said.

With a dissatisfied growl, Kimblee released Roy’s hands, and let Roy tuck his glove into his pocket. Although, perhaps just to placate him, Roy left his other glove still on. 

Roy had always been partial to heat and warm weather. And yet, the combination of the scorching heat of Ishval, and the warmth of Kimblee’s body against him was nearly too much. He wanted to push Kimblee away. Perhaps to pull off his own coat, or maybe to say he’d changed his mind. That he didn’t want to go through with this.

But it was far too late at this point, he was already starting to jerk Kimblee off, and he could feel Kimblee’s heavy breathing, each breath pushing his boney spine against Roy’s chest.

“Why are you so interested in my gloves?” Roy asked, half out of curiosity, half teasing.

“They’re the thing that makes you powerful. And yet…oh…you never…never seem to take that power,” Kimblee panted. 

Roy almost wanted to stop, but instead he reached up with his free hand, his gloved hand, to cup Kimblee’s face, and Kimblee gasped. 

“Shh. We’re still technically on the battlefield,” Roy warned, and covered Kimblee’s mouth.

Perhaps it was a good thing that he’d put his right glove back in his pocket. His gloves were useless when they got wet, and even if Kimblee didn’t do anything but moan into his hand, the moisture in his breath would probably be enough to make his left glove useless until it dried out again. 

Kimblee squirmed in Roy’s lap, and started to thrust his hips up to meet Roy’s strokes. 

And then all of a sudden, Kimblee bit into the hand covering his mouth, catching mostly fabric, and came with a muffled groan. He rocked his hips against Roy’s hand a few more times before lying back, spent, chest heaving.

Roy didn’t want to lie around with him. He stood up, despite Kimblee’s protests, wiped his hand on the wall, and put his right glove back on with the mental note to wash his hands back at base camp.

“Typical Roy, according to the rumors,” Kimblee teased, but Roy ignored him. “You should use your power more often. You’re more interesting when you take charge.”

At that Roy did look back. Kimblee was climbing too his feet.

“For what? Get you off again? No,” Roy said, before turning on his heel to leave.

 

When Roy finally arrived at his tent, after a few minor detours to clean up and get something to eat, Maes was waiting for him.

“Where were you?” Maes asked.

“I got held up on the way back. I’m not in the mood for cards tonight, Maes,” Roy said, stepping past him into his tent.

Maes watched him, looking disappointed.

“Alright. I’ll let everyone else know you’re going to bed. Did something happen?” he asked.

Roy hesitated.

“No. Nothing happened.”

Maes didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press it.


End file.
